Purpose In All Things: Slippery Things Tomatoes
by whovianbard
Summary: AU: Ianto didn't know what to blame, the tomatoes or Jack. Either way his life had just got a great deal more interesting. Set six months after end of Purpose In All Things. One-shot. Janto fluffiness.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse, that honour goes to RTD and the mighty BBC.**

**Authors Note: First off, big, and I mean huge thanks, to my all new and much approved of Beta, Orion Lyonesse, for all her help, support and superior beta-ing skills. Even being on opposite sides of the Atlantic can't keep fiction writers down!**

**After all the angst of Purpose In All Things and Glimpse of the The Abyss I thought Jack and Ianto deserved some fluffiness - with just a hint of drama to keep it real. This is Torchwood after all. Also, I should mention this story mentions events in the audiobook In The Shadows by Joseph Lidster.**

**Reviews, as always, make me a very happy bunny!**

* * *

It was all the fault of the tomatoes. Slippery things, tomatoes. The way the smooth, red skin seems impervious to anything, even the sharpest knife, sending the blade skittering over the surface towards supporting hand or chopping board at random, blunting it in an instant. Or it could have been Jack's fault. Standing behind him, hands resting lightly on his hips, nuzzling the downy hair at the back of his neck interspersed with light, feather-like kisses. Whatever, or whoever was at fault, the upshot was that Ianto Harkness-Jones was now stood by the sink wincing in pain as he watched the blood from the gashes across the backs of his fingers swirl down the sink plughole, diluted to palest pink by the icy cold running water. Beside him, trying not to look concerned but failing miserably, Jack stood by, worry and guilt etched into his features in equal measure.

With a final grimace of pain, Ianto shut off the running water and grabbed a roll of absorbent paper from the kitchen counter, tore off a couple of sheets and wrapped them tightly around his injured hand. Immediately they turned red, light at first but darker with each passing second. Ianto looked at Jack who seemed to be frozen in place,

"Jack?" he asked a touch impatiently. "Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to get me a couple of plasters before I bleed out right here in the kitchen? I'm warning you, my blood will be murder to get out of the grouting." He nodded down at the tiled kitchen floor with a faint smile. Jack blinked twice, and looked at him as if he had been woken from a daydream. Or a nightmare, Ianto conceded, noting the pale set of his face.

"What? Oh plasters, right. I'll get them." He made a move towards the downstairs bathroom where he knew Ianto had placed a first aid kit, one of several he had insisted keeping about the house, given their propensity for minor injuries. Then he stopped abruptly,

"We should go to the Hub. Get Martha to run the tissue regeneration gizmo over you." His voice was urgent, tinged with suppressed fear.

Ianto's brow furrowed in concern. Something was wrong with Jack. Since his resurrection six months before, Jack had been very protective, even overprotective. Not daring to confine him to his desk, Ianto had been very definite about how he felt about that, he'd manipulated the duty roster so he was always with Ianto to protect him from harm, something Ianto was perfectly willing to acquiesce to. After spending so long apart, every minute he got to spend with his new husband was precious. The upshot was that apart from him sustaining a couple of bruises Jack had managed it admirably. This was the first time he had drawn blood since his return to duty.

Not to mention Jack had even less to worry about injuries to his team than in the old days. In the twenty two years Ianto had been lost to Jack, Torchwood had acquired some amazing pieces of alien tech. Martha had positively glowed the day a 62nd century Tissue Regeneration Unit had quite literally dropped into her lap through the Rift. Cuts, abrasions, gunshot wounds and fractures, that once took weeks to heal could now be fixed in a matter of minutes or hours depending on the severity of the wound.

No. Jack's concern was out of proportion to the severity of his wound and that worried the hell out him.

"Jack? What is the matter? This is a cut. It's not life threatening, you know that. Talk to me, Cariad."

The last sentence was gentle, as he moved across the kitchen and took Jack's hand in his own injured one. He noticed with shock that the hand he held was trembling. He reached up to draw his husband's face to his own and softly kissed him. No passion, just warm comfort. To his relief he felt Jack relax slightly, the trembling lessen. He pulled back slightly so he could see Jack's face, keeping tight hold of his hand and ignoring the pain which lanced across his knuckles.

"I'm not going anywhere, you know? You're stuck with me for a while yet...Sir." He'd added that as an afterthought, hoping to pull Jack out of whatever black place he was inhabiting.

Jack's face remained bleak for a moment, and then he saw the glimmer of a smile touch the corners of his mouth.

"Do you know how arousing it is when you call me sir?" he said with a touch of his usual swagger.

Ianto cast his mind back to the countless fierce fumbles, hurried gropes and breathless kisses they'd shared, his back pressed against the wall of the Jack's office, the archive, the cells, not to mention the more satisfactory lingering couplings when the Hub was deserted.

"I think I have a pretty good idea...Sir," he deadpanned, directing a heated gaze at Jack, his intentions clear.

Jack swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You need plasters," he commented abruptly, pulling on Ianto's injured hand.

Pain shot across Ianto's fingers but he kept his face steady, not wanting to draw Jack's attention back to whatever nightmare he had been reliving.

"I don't want blood on the sheets," Ianto agreed, following him to the bathroom.

"Sit!" Jack ordered, indicating the toilet seat. Ianto obediently sat down and held his hand out for inspection. Jack unwound the paper and critically examined the cuts, which now seemed to be drying up. They were relatively long but not deep, the edges clean thanks to the extreme sharpness of the blade. They would heal without a scar.

"Ouch," Jack commented, as he pulled out the first aid kit from the cupboard below the sink and began rummaging for plasters.

"Ouch indeed," Ianto returned, giving Jack a wide-eyed innocent stare. Quirking an eyebrow up, he asked innocently, "Are you going to kiss them better?"

"Absolutely," Jack assured him, sticking the final plaster over the last of the cuts. He fought back a chuckle when he noticed that they appeared to be children's plasters decorated with characters from the Mr. Men. Ianto followed his gaze and coloured but said nothing. "Dr Jack, that's me. Tell me, Mr Harkness-Jones, is there anywhere else that hurts?"

Ianto contemplated Jack's question for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Right now? Pretty much everywhere."

Jack grinned, and Ianto saw the last of the fear leave his eyes, to be replaced by something else. Desire. Without a further word Jack bent down and picked Ianto up, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back. Ianto gave a distinctly unmanly squeak of surprise, causing Jack to smirk knowingly. Then he stepped out of the bathroom and started up the stairs.

"This is very Gone with the Wind," Ianto muttered.

"Always had a thing about Rhett Butler," Jack replied breezily. "Besides, isn't bed the best place for invalids, or would you prefer the sofa?" He paused mid-stair, waiting for a response.

Ianto felt the burning presence of Jack's arms through his T-shirt and jeans, eclipsed by the now raging heat emanating from his own core at the vision of those fingers caressing his naked skin. Suddenly the need to shed his clothes, to feel Jack's hands and lips trace the contours of his body, became unbearable. A low moan of wanting escaped his lips as he answered, making Jack's breath hitch in his chest.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

* * *

Three weeks later Ianto was beginning to think the fear on Jack's face that night might have some basis in reality. The cuts hadn't healed. Three plasters still adorned the middle fingers of his left hand, although now they were the dull, adult, beige variety, one obscuring the wedding band he liked to turn whenever he was thinking of Jack. In the way of all plasters, they had now become intensely annoying. Beneath the protective covering of the breathable plastic, there were some signs that the skin was starting to repair itself. Mottled scabs graced the top of each cut, puckering the surrounding skin as the cells began to divide, migrate and seal the breach. There was also the almost obligatory itch, daring him to pick off the scab and open the wound once more. But it was all happening too slowly. The cuts looked as if he had sliced his hand two days ago, not ten times that period. Clearly there was something wrong with them, or him.

He'd caught Jack throwing surreptitious glances in the direction of his injured hand when he thought Ianto wasn't looking, his eyes tinged with that familiar fear Ianto was coming to expect every time he made eye contact, but he hadn't brought up the tissue regeneration unit again. From watching his husband, Ianto was convinced that Jack was not concerned with the cuts themselves but something that they represented; something Jack suspected but didn't want to put into words, especially to Ianto. And for some reason he couldn't fathom, Ianto didn't want to ask Jack about it.

* * *

He went to see Martha. She had asked him about the cuts, the day after it happened. Asked if he wanted her to give them a quick look over, use the TRU, as she called it, to make them disappear. He'd waved her away, dismissing them as nothing, which, at the time they were.

He caught her alone in the medical bay, so not wanting to share his fears with the rest of the team, and especially not Jack.

"Martha?"

He tried to make his voice sound nonchalant and unconcerned; after all it would probably turn out to be some kind of vitamin deficiency, or maybe selenium. Something ordinary.

She turned at the sound of his voice and smiled warmly.

"What can I do for you, Ianto?" There it was: the false note in her voice. Something that said she had been waiting for this conversation. He caught her glancing down at his hand, hanging by his side. Clearly whatever Jack knew or suspected he had shared with Martha. It made sense, of course. They shared a history which Jack had not fully confided to Ianto even now, although he had assured Ianto they had never been more than friends. Add to that the fact she was a doctor and he valued her medical knowledge, then rationally she was the only person he would confide in. Still, it felt a lot like a conspiracy from which he, Ianto, was specifically excluded, and it hurt.

"I want you to look at my hand," he said evenly, deliberately formal. "It's not healing as fast as it should."

He held out his hand to Martha who, supporting it gently, stripped away one of the plasters. If she was surprised at his coolness she didn't show it.

Ianto felt his eyes sting and tear-up as some of the fine downy hairs on the back of his fingers were ripped away by the adhesive.

Martha examined the cut critically.

"They are healing," she confirmed. "There are clear signs of tissue repair, but you're right. I would expect them to be further along in the healing process by now. You could take the plasters off now though if you want. The cuts are dry."

"To be honest I've been keeping them on to stop me picking at the scabs," Ianto confessed, losing his formal tone. He smiled guiltily, looking a great deal younger than his twenty-six years. Martha returned the smile with a nod of understanding.

"Definitely don't want to open them up again. Do you want me to use the TRU on them? I'll have them repaired in a couple of minutes."

Ianto look undecided for a moment then nodded slowly.

"I guess. I'm getting a bit sick of them, quite frankly." He paused, as if waiting for Martha to speak, then, when she remained silently smiling, looked at her curiously. When he continued his voice was sharp.

"Don't you want to run some blood tests? See why I'm not healing? Find out what is wrong with me? Because I damn well want to know!"

Martha refused to meet his eyes and Ianto's stomach turned over. Whatever it was, she definitely already knew, and it was bad. He felt a surge of helpless anger. It wasn't fair. He'd only had six months with Jack. It wasn't enough. He needed more time. Time to enjoy his newly found life. Time to enjoy loving Jack. Time to be loved in return.

He realised Martha was looking at him expectantly. He'd obviously missed a question.

At his puzzled frown, she repeated her question. "What has Jack told you?" Her voice was careful, her expression neutral.

"Not a goddam thing," Ianto retorted, his voice rising with fear and frustration. "But he has this expression in his eyes when he looks at me. Like I'm about to vanish. Sometimes it's like I'm already gone..." He swallowed hard trying to regain his composure.

"I might be centuries younger than our illustrious Captain, but I'm still a grown man. I deserve to know the truth. As a member of Torchwood, irrespective of the relationship Jack and I have. If it were Gwen, or Mickey, or even Siân you'd tell them. Why not me?"

"I'm not disputing you deserve to know, Ianto," Martha reasoned, "but I promised Jack. It's not my place..." She faltered seeing the expression of fury descend over Ianto's face.

"Go speak to Jack," she said finally, turning away. "Come back when you want me to sort those cuts."

Ianto gave a terse nod, realising it was pointless to blame Martha. It was Jack. It was all Jack. Fists clenched, he stalked from the medical bay in the direction of Jack's office.

* * *

"What's wrong with me?" he asked without preamble as he barged through the door without knocking, sending it careering against the wall with an explosive bang.

Startled, Jack looked up from the report he was reading.

"Nothing," he replied automatically, his face breaking into a grin which, Ianto noticed, didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're perfect just the way you are!"

"Cut the bullshit, Harkness! These..." He waved his fingers before Jack's face. "Are not healing like they should. Why? What aren't you telling me, Jack?" Drawing a shuddering breath, he dredged up his worst fear. "When you brought me back. What went wrong?"

Jack stared open-mouthed as his husband railed at him from the doorway, not seeming to care who heard. At those last words, though, the fight seemed to drain out of Ianto in a sudden rush until he stood before Jack looking very young and very scared.

"I'm not ready to die yet, Jack," he whispered brokenly. "We haven't had enough time."

Jack was out of his chair and had vaulted over his desk before Ianto had finished speaking. At any other time the gesture would have earned him a round of applause. Now there was silence as he wrapped his arms tightly around his lover and pressed his lips into Ianto's soft brown hair. He waited until the stiffness left Ianto's frame, until the younger man leant into him, until he began to draw from Jack's strength.

They stood that way unspeaking for a full two minutes as Ianto's breaths calmed, grew more even. Finally, keeping Ianto safely within the circle of his arms, Jack drew back until he could look down at his face. Ianto met Jack's gaze squarely. His face was serious but, Ianto noticed gratefully, without the bleakness he had seen there so often in the past three weeks.

"You're not dying, Ianto. There was a side effect to the virus." Jack lifted one hand and ran it through his brown hair, betraying his nervousness. This was the moment he had been rehearsing in his head for the last six months, and it wasn't how he had planned it. In his scenario he had broached this subject while safely tucked up in bed, Ianto wrapped securely in his arms where he could ensure there was no misunderstanding, no chance for Ianto to withdraw from him as he so often had in the days before the 456. Here in his office, Ianto fully armoured in suit, tie and waistcoat, too much was beyond his control. There were too many escape routes. Unconsciously he tightened his grip around Ianto's waist.

In response Ianto pulled away. Just a step, but it amplified all Jack's fears a thousandfold. Jack's arm fell helplessly to his side, suddenly bereft.

"Go on," Ianto said stiffly. As much as part of him wanted to stay within the circle of Jack's arms, the hurt he felt at the knowledge that Jack had been keeping secrets from him again, after all they had been through, rose in his throat like acid.

"When Siân took a sample of your blood and applied the anti-viral agent, she found that not only was the virus destroyed but your white cells started to metabolise and divide," Jack began to explain rapidly.

"I know that, Jack. You told me when I woke up." Ianto's voice was devoid of warmth and Jack flinched visibly. He took a steadying breath, but it didn't help.

"What I didn't tell you is that the cells were dividing much slower than normal cells, and they survived longer in culture. A hell of a lot longer. Siân wasn't sure if the effect would be the same in your body, or, if it was, whether it would persist beyond your current complement of cells. She certainly didn't know if it would result in your overall lifespan being extended. But all the evidence at the time suggested it might."

"And you didn't think this was something I should know about?" Ianto interjected flatly.

"No, that wasn't it, Ianto. I couldn't see the point in telling you if it turned out our hypothesis was wrong. I wanted to wait and see if there was any outward sign of your...er..." Jack seemed to be fighting for the right word.

"Condition?" Ianto supplied, when Jack seemed to have run aground.

Jack nodded. "I suppose. To be fair to Siân and Martha, they wanted to tell you as soon as you woke up. I made them promise not to say anything. I didn't want to get my... your hopes up."

"Get my hopes up? Interesting choice of words. And now?" At Jack's unconscious slip Ianto smiled inwardly, all his bitterness melting away.

"Your fingers' not healing suggests your new cells have the same slow turnover as your existing cells. Your whole body is aging much slower than normal."

"How much slower?"

"If Siân's estimates are correct, your lifespan would be extended by twelve years for every year you spent in suspended animation." Jack's tone was matter-of-fact, his hands clenched into tight fists by his sides. This was the moment of truth. If Ianto chose to run now, there was nothing he could do to stop him.

Ianto did some quick mental calculations. The answer made his head spin, the implications too staggering and wonderful to contemplate.

"So basically what you're telling me is that instead of getting to live for another sixty odd years, Torchwood incidents notwithstanding, I could conceivably be around for three hundred years, give or take a couple of decades," Ianto summarised in a monotone, his face blank with shock.

"Pretty much," Jack confirmed, his eyes anxiously searching Ianto's face for some sign of a reaction.

"And this whole face of doom thing you've had going on for the past three weeks?"

"I thought you might leave me." Jack's words were almost inaudible. Ianto's eyes lifted sharply to meet Jack's and he saw there such a look of pain, pain caused by the thought that Ianto might leave him behind.

"Hey, sixty years with me is one thing, but three hundred?" Jack continued, his voice still fearful. "There's a whole lot of world out there to see if you have the time, and now you do. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go off and, I don't know, pursue a noble cause or something."

Ianto blank expression was replaced by one of incredulousness. Without saying a word, he drew his right arm back and let fly, his fist connecting with Jack's jaw with a satisfying crack. Taken completely by surprise, Jack's head snapped back and he blinked several times trying to clear his suddenly blurred vision.

"What was that for?" he stammered, genuinely confused.

"Oh, I don't know," Ianto replied sarcastically. "Take your pick. For keeping this secret from me for the last six months? For thinking I wouldn't be able to handle the prospect of living for a couple of hundred years? For thinking this might actually make a difference to the way I feel about you?" He paused and looked at Jack's bewildered face. After a second Ianto's face crinkled into a soft smile. "Currently I'm working on ten percent each for the first two reasons and eighty percent for the third."

Jack rubbed his jaw ruefully. Inwardly, though, he felt a surge of joy.

"Couldn't you have just told me?" he complained plaintively.

"Oh no. That was much more satisfying," Ianto smirked. "Although I now have these bruises to deal with as well. I guess I'm going to be making extensive use of the TRU in the future." He held up his right hand, the knuckles already turning a dark shade of purple. "I can't wait for my injuries to heal themselves every time, can I? I'd be spending half of my extended life bandaged up." Despite his light-hearted tone he saw Jack swallow. Clearly he still wasn't convinced that he had been forgiven.

Ianto ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Jack! Snap out of it. You're being an idiot. I'll admit I was hurt. You should have told me, trusted me with the truth. I could have handled the uncertainty. I went to Hell for you, remember? Pulled you back from wherever those Lucifer match things sent you? I followed you into Thames House to confront the 456 even knowing there was a very good chance I was going to die. And don't forget the whole twenty two years my consciousness was taking refuge in yours while I waited for you to rescue me from that virus. How could you honestly think that this could possibly change my feelings towards you? When are you going to get it through that thick 51st century skull of yours that I love you and I want to be with you for as long as I can? Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is ever going to change that. I married you for better or for worse, Cariad. As far as I'm concerned our marriage just got a whole lot better. You're..."

Whatever he was about to say was lost as Jack leant over and covered his mouth with his own in a deep, passionate kiss, worrying Ianto's lower lip briefly with his teeth until the lips beneath his parted wider and allowed him access. In response Ianto brought his arms up and around Jack's back, bringing him closer until they stood pressed close together, vividly aware of the contact which extended from their mouths, locked together down the full length of their bodies, hips pressed together, the evidence of their mutual arousal apparent between them.

With a groan Jack gripped the younger man's hair, pulling back his head to allow him to plunge his tongue even deeper into Ianto's mouth. Almost instantly he felt the younger man's legs give beneath him, threatening to pull them both to floor in a tangle of limbs. Lowering his hands from Ianto's face and hair, Jack wrapped them round his back, supporting his lover. Then he manoeuvred them both against the wall of the office, letting the smooth wood panelling take their weight. At no point did he raise his head from Ianto's. He continued to intensify the kiss, revelling in the way his husband's tongue battled with his own.

At the touch of the cool wood against his back, Ianto regained some of his senses, at least the ones that reminded him that having sex in Jack's office in the middle of the working day with the entire team no doubt listening just out of sight was not exactly wise. Unfortunately he was acutely aware that his other senses, the ones that made him long to rip Jack's shirt off his back and caress, preferably with his tongue, every inch of Jack's perfect physique, were infinitely stronger and more seductive. With a supreme effort he disengaged his mouth from Jack's and pulled his head away, leaning back on the panelling, panting heavily. Jack rested his forehead against the wood just above Ianto's shoulder, his deep gasping breaths loud in Ianto's ear. One of Jack's hands reached up to caress the side of Ianto's face and Ianto raised his own hand to cover it, stroking it in gentle circles with his thumb.

They stood there for several long moments, each trying to regain his breath, aware of the heat and wanting that shimmered between them, almost tangible in the cool air of the office.

"Spoilsport," Jack said finally, raising his head to look at Ianto, his voice rueful.

Ianto gave him an apologetic smile and, lifting Jack's hand from his cheek, turned it over and placed a slow open-mouthed kiss onto his palm. His blue eyes darkened as he saw Jack's helpless shudder.

"Just marking my place, Cariad," Ianto breathed. "Until we get home."

He saw Jack's eyes widen. Apparently, beneath Ianto's very proper exterior were hidden depths he was only just beginning to discover. And it seemed some of them were downright dirty. Oh, he was so looking forward to the next three hundred years!

"Ianto Jones, are you suggesting that I just up-sticks in the middle of the day and go home to have passionate sex with my lover? That's not very professional," he said severely. His eyes though held a very different message.

"Screw professional," Ianto said bluntly, his eyes now almost black with desire. "That's Ianto Harkness-Jones to you, sir." He emphasised the Harkness. "And I'll remind you I'm your husband, not some quick shag. Besides you're the boss. You can do what the hell you like. And, as your employee, I have to do what you say."

"You've convinced me," Jack said quickly. Without another word he stepped back and grabbed Ianto's wrist, pulling him towards the door of the office. With a broad smile Ianto followed unresisting, noting with satisfaction the various members of the team scattering from their various listening posts, desperately pretending they had been busy and not eavesdropping. He gave an apologetic smile to Martha as Jack dragged him towards the Hub exit,

"Do you think I'll be able to curb these caveman tendencies of his at some point in the next two centuries?" he threw her as they passed, feeling a warm glow spread through him at the growing realisation of the gift that had been bestowed upon him.

"Not bloody likely," Jack muttered, earning a knowing wink from Martha. "Just be grateful I didn't throw you over my shoulder, husband of mine."

"We can save that for next time," Ianto shot back, adding, just loud enough for Jack to hear, "Sir!"


End file.
